


Falter

by thedisgruntledone



Series: Unfair Exchange [10]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 10:24:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2578151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedisgruntledone/pseuds/thedisgruntledone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will dreams. Margot has a proposition. Will is a bit of a dick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falter

**Author's Note:**

> It's back. Not sure if it's actually a good thing, but...

_Will dreams._

_They are in bed. This neither surprises nor disturbs him – he has been experiencing dreams such as this for far longer than he is willing to admit, even to himself. Especially to himself. There are things he is better off not acknowledging._

_What he does find mildly surprising is that although the both of them are naked, they are not having sex. They are merely resting, Hannibal spooned behind him, hips and knees pushed tightly into his own. An arm is slung loosely about his waist, fingers stroking his stomach in absent patterns. Occasionally, lips press into the back of his neck in soft kisses, tongue flicking out to taste._

_Helplessly, he pushes back into the body behind him, wanting more of this softness, craving it despite the voice in his head that cries that this is wrong, wrong. It is worse than sex, worse than the things that he does and dreams, and far more dangerous. He has to stop it._

_He tenses, preparing to pull away, but the arm around his waist tightens._

_“Relax, my good Will,” Hannibal says, sliding a leg over his and beginning to move against him. Soft, barely there thrusts that force his body into responding, force a soft, desperate noise out of his throat as he rocks his body back into that barely there movement, seeking friction. The yearning he hears in his own voice terrifies him, and he beings to struggle wildly,_

_Hannibal lets out a low, growling noise and suddenly, Will finds himself on his back, blanketed by a heavy weight and staring into the soulless, starving eyes of the wendigo. Lips descend upon his own, tongue and teeth ravaging his mouth in what amounts to more of an attack than a kiss. Will surges into it, biting back as hard as he can, doing his level best to draw blood as he gives as good as he’s getting. Arousal crashes through him like a wave, making him dizzy, making him hard, and he grinds up into the body above him, not caring that this is awful, wrong, disturbing. It doesn’t matter; the lust he feels could never be as awful, wrong, or disturbing as wanting to be loved by a monster._

_Will goes with the lust, encourages it, allows himself to become lost in how good it feels. He closes his eyes, slides his hands to the creature’s shoulders and gets a leg free. He uses his new grip to reverse their positions, Will on top and the wendigo beneath him. He pulls his mouth away, gasping, rocking his hips down into those below him. His hands leave the shoulders, circle around a too-thin neck and squeeze. The face beneath him flickers, changes, and suddenly it is Hannibal below him, mouth open as he struggles for breath, eyes dark and filled with a fire that makes his own breath stop in his throat. The legs beneath his shift, widen, and Hannibal thrusts back, hard, his throat working under Will’s fingers, and Will pushes down even more firmly, eyes rolling back in his head, driving them both closer to completion as his fingers tighten, tighten…_

Will woke as he came. His back bowed as his orgasm washed through him, and he bit his lip to stop any sound escaping. Panting, he fell back into the bed, letting out a shaky breath as he ran a trembling hand over his face. He’d been having a variation of the same dream since he’d set “Freddie’s” body aflame, since his “admirer” had set the burned body out in tribute, and this was the third time he’d woken to sticky sheets, breath short and body sated. He sat up, avoiding looking at his mess and thinking with no little amusement that he never thought he’d see the day when he’d miss his usual brand of nightmare. Wished that it was the truth.

He had just finished stripping both himself and the bed when there was a knock on his door. Startled, he glanced at the clock, surprised to note that it was only nine at night. He must have fallen asleep early again.

Another knock dragged him out of his head, and he thought longingly of his shower before he grabbed the clothes nearest to hand and put them on and going to answer the door.

“Evening,” Margot said, smirking at him from his porch. She took in his disheveled appearance, his awful hair and his hastily buttoned shirt, and her smirk grew wider, eyes crinkling in amusement. “Am I interrupting something?”

She walked in without waiting for a reply, and Will found himself smiling as he shut the door behind her. He liked Margot, couldn’t help it. Even though he knew she was here because she wanted something – even though he was pretty sure he knew what that something was – he was almost happy to see her. She was a bright spot in the wreckage that had become his life of late, and he was loath to turn her away.

He was unaccustomed to liking someone so quickly, but figured that as they were both unlucky beneficiaries of one Dr. Lecter’s more…unorthodox form of therapy, it was only natural that they should turn to each other, allies against a common friend that was anything but. Both of them were isolated, friendless. They had no one else, so it was little surprise that they kept turning to each other.

Will took in the outfit – or lack of – that Margot was wearing, and shook his head. “Still have the wrong parts, I’m afraid,” he said, and Margot, who was once again busily helping herself to his whisky, laughed.

“Seems to me that I also have the wrong parts for your proclivities,” she answered, smirk still firmly planted on her face. She handed him one of the glasses she’d been pouring, standing far too close. Holding his gaze, she took a long drink, tilting her head back and watching him through slitted eyes. “Nothing to say?” She moved a little closer, her chest lightly brushing against his. “Don’t you want to prove that I’m wrong?”

Will took a step back. “Not really,” he replied easily, crowing inwardly as that finally caused the smirk to drop from her face. He took a casual sip from the drink in his hand. “Do you want to tell me what you’re up to? What exactly are you hoping to gain from this?”

Margot made a frustrated noise. She set her glass down with a sharp click, striding to one of his chairs and collapsing into it. “Fine. What I’m hoping to accomplish, the thing I’m trying to gain, is freedom. To do that I need a baby. Your baby.” She leaned back, crossed her legs and glared. “Satisfied?”

“Not hardly. Funny, you don’t really seem the mothering type.”

She huffed, and her glare intensified. “Do you enjoy acting less intelligent than you are, or is this for my benefit?”

Will laughed. “Both.” He sat in the chair across from her, and placed his whiskey down before leaning forward, all humor fading from his voice as he continued, “I understand what it is you want, and more, I understand why. I’m less understanding of the way you went about it. You tried to use me, Margot, to manipulate me into doing what you wanted, and I don’t appreciate it. I won’t be manipulated.” _By anyone else_. The words were left unspoken, but from the slight widening of Margot’s eyes, he suspected she had heard them all the same.

“So, what you’re saying is if I cut out the manipulation. If I asked, plainly, for what I want..?”

“Try it and find out.”

Margot took a breath. She looked suddenly nervous. “Will you…will you help me? Will you do this for – with me? Get me out of there?”

Will smiled. It wasn’t kind. “Ask nicely.”


End file.
